Wasting Away
by Winter 'neechan
Summary: "She was wasting away, they said. A beautiful flower opting to hide itself from the sunlight and wither away until it died, they said. She thought they talked too much."  The fall of a trainer, from the eyes of her Krookodile.


**A/N: So, I wrote this awhile back while trying to come up with a backstory for a new character of mine, at the time I also happened to be listening to The Lonely by Christina Perri, and so I ended up with this. Not exactly your typical pokemon trainer story, but hey, I figured since I typed it out, I might as well put it up here. Thanks goes out to Chibi as always for looking this over. Hope you guys enjoy, reviews appreciated.  
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**Disclaimer: The only thing I own here is Anna and the idea for Hook. If Pokemon were mine, there would be no more Ash Ketchum and Pikachu, and the games would be a lot less suitable for all ages. My point? Pokemon is not mine.  
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><p><strong>Wasting <em>Away<em>**

She was wasting away, they said. A beautiful flower opting to hide itself from the sunlight and wither away until it died, they said. She thought they talked too much. Who were they to say what they would about her when they knew nothing about her? She didn't allow anyone else into her world; they were too preoccupied with expensive dresses and jewelry and gossip to ever come close to understanding, and besides, she liked it alone. There was no one who would expect things of you if you were alone. Many were also put off by the large creature that hovered over his master's tiny, sitting figure. She was always sitting, it seemed, curled in on herself with her arms wrapped around her legs and her chin resting on her knees, large green eyes staring blankly ahead as though she saw nothing, like she was living in a world of daydreams. She wasn't impaired in any way; when her parents asked her to do something, she most often complied, and if they asked her a question, she responded in soft tones that were devoid of emotion, but held a faint accent.

She sought out solitude in dark corners and empty rooms, always followed by her hulking companion. He understood her in a way no one else did, a way no one else _could_. She talked to him the most of all of them, directed almost all of her rare displays of emotion to him. She looked like she might shatter should you touch her, which was seemingly the purpose of her guard—to keep anyone from getting too close and breaking her. Well, keep any from breaking her even more than she already was.

Because they didn't _hear_, didn't _see_ what he did. They didn't see the way they _buried_ her under all their own wants and expectations.

Sometimes, when she was alone, she danced. He would watch her move in half-remembered steps that she improvised to her liking and then put into motion, flitting throughout the room, seeming to barely touch the floor as she spun and leapt, her hair and dress flying and twisting with her like flags in the wind as she flashed in and out of the light cast in slanted blocks across the white tiled floor by the uncurtained windows. It was the only time she seemed alive and happy to him, and soon she began dancing as long and often as she could.

It wasn't long before she began to ignore the calls of her parents, calls for dinner, shut out everything but him, and then even he could no longer reach her among the joy she felt when dancing.

_She was wasting away, they said…_

She was getting crushed under the pressure of other people's wants and expectations. No one would let her be herself, just what they wanted her to be. What kind of life was that?

_A beautiful flower opting to hide itself from the sunlight and wither away until it died, they said..._

Hiding from the light was the only choice she_ could_ make. At least she could dance, could have one thing to herself. It was better than having nothing to herself, better than not being her at all, until it consumed her. Soon she was unwilling to stop for all but the most important needs, and he watched her deteriorate. He could do nothing but watch as she grew thinner, weaker, sleep deprived, he watched her spiral downward further and further, and then…

_She thought they talked too much. Who were they to say what they would about her when they knew nothing about her?_

And then one day he watched as she suddenly picked up her recently lagging pace for one last dance. She smiled brilliantly as she moved, looking as though she hardly ever touched the floor; leaping and twirling, wind tugging at her hair and dress, flashing between light and shadow like a ghost in and out of sight. He watched in horror as she suddenly tripped, falling forward to collapse on the floor, where she began to cry in loud, ragged sobs.

Now she was going, going, gone. His sweet Anna; beautiful, kind Anna that he protected from all else was completely gone. He had failed to protect her from herself, and lost her in the process.

Her sobs filled the room, they allowed nothing else to break through.

_This_ was the price of his failure.

He watches now as the shell of who was once _his_ Anna stares listlessly across the dark room. They are dull now, the little light that her eyes had once contained has gone out completely. The haunted green orbs show no emotion, they barely even see any more. She speaks even less now, but she still acknowledges him more than others—she treats her parents as though they don't exist.

"You tried, Hook." She starts suddenly, much to his surprise. "You tried to save me, and I thank you for that." He blinks, she smiles bitterly. "I just wish I had listened to you."

With that, she sits down on the floor of the room where she used to dance, and speaks no more. The Krookodile stands beside her silently and waits for the shell of Anna to rise again.


End file.
